Held silent and immobile by the magic, Alec could only shudder as Ashnazai passed a clammy hand over his chest, then traced a hard line down his breastbone. "Did you ever take her on that floor, boy? No? Ah, well, I suppose other things happened there, eh? But then, snik, snik, snik, like so we had the heads off for the mantel decoration.
I must say, your reaction was all that I'd have hoped for. I nearly added your head to the collection, but then I thought of a more—how would you say?"
The necromancer traced the line down Alec's chest a second time with a look of almost dreamy pleasure.
"A more satisfying revenge. You shall pay for the difficulties you made, and be of great use."
The implication was clear enough. Thinking of the bodies Micum and Seregil had seen, with their chests split open, ribs pulled back on either side like wings, Alec wished they had killed him that first night.
The rounds of torture continued for several days and when they'd finished with him, Alec finally understood why Nysander had told Seregil and him so little. They wrung everything from him, though it was nothing more than the fragment of the prophecy.
"There now. Well done, Alec," Mardus said, smiling down at him when the dyrmagnos had finished. "But your Guardian is dead, this mysterious band of four he spoke of sundered, broken. Poor Seregil. Even if he did desert you in the end, he must be feeling a bit guilty at having brought such destruction down on so many of his friends."
Torn loose from any shred of hope or pride, Alec could only turn his face away and weep.
After the torture ceased, the soldiers became Alec's chief source of daily misery. Among them were Mardus' captain, Tildus, and the men-at-arms who'd bullied him in Wolde. With Seregil's training to guide him, he looked for a weak link among them, a man with some fatal streak of sympathy, but Mardus had chosen his personal guard with care.
A harsh, brutal lot, they'd crowded to the grate to listen when he was tortured. Now they were the ones who dragged him above for the daily airings on deck that Mardus insisted upon. They stood over him at meals, sniggered when he begged for a pail to relieve himself. Few of them spoke any Skalan, but they managed to get their crude jests and insults across.
A few of them made free with their hands, too, and laughed when he lashed out at them.
The worst among them was a hairy, muscular brute called Gossol. During the brief struggle at the Cockerel the night of his capture, Alec had smashed him in the mouth with the hilt of his sword and broken off the man's front teeth. Gossol held a grudge over it and made a special effort to torment him at every opportunity.
On the morning of Alec's sixth day aboard, Gossol showed up alone to escort him above. One look was enough to make Alec brace for trouble.
"Come you, man child," Gossol ordered in broken Skalan. The stumps of his broken front teeth showed as he leered slyly and held up a cloak, the only garment Alec was allowed except for his clout.
Alec understood. He'd have to go get it.
"Come quick, not seshka Mardus keep wait," Gossol chided.
"Toss it here," Alec said, holding out his hand.
Gossol's grin widened dangerously. Leaning against the door frame, he gave the cloak a taunting shake. "No. You come, man child. Now."
Getting to his feet, Alec cautiously reached for the cloak. Gossol snatched it away and laughed as Alec jumped back.
"What? You afraid of Gossol, little man child?"
He offered the cloak, pulled it back again with a sneer, then advanced on Alec, backing him into the narrow space between the bunk and the wall. "You be afraid, good. You break mouth of Gossol. Think whores like this mouth now? Eh? You know whore, I think." Gossol made a lewd gesture.
"Whores don't like this broken mouth. Maybe you like, eh?"
Shoving Alec back against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him, he pinned him there with the weight of his body and kissed him savagely on the mouth.
Alec struggled furiously, but Gossol held him fast with one hand and ran the other up Alec's belly to his nipple and gave it a vicious twist.
With a snarl, Alec gave up trying to push the heavy man off and instead bit him on the lip.
Gossol pulled away and drew back his fist, but Alec beat him to the punch. The moment his arms were free, he drove his fist into the startled guard's face and felt the satisfying crunch of bone as Gossol's nose splintered.
Maddened, he grappled with Alec again, throwing him back onto the hard bunk and locking a hand around his windpipe. As Alec fought for breath he heard someone else storm in, cursing in Plenimaran.
Tildus dragged the enraged soldier off and struck him hard across the jaw before pushing him into the arms of the other soldiers waiting at the door.
"Hell damn little bastard fool!" Tildus shouted, seeing blood on Alec's face and chest.
He barked an order to another soldier in the companionway, then rounded on Alec again. "If any of this is, yours, you dead as Gossol. No good if damaged. Mardus slice you up like an eel, eat your rezhari for dinner!"
Someone fetched a bucket of water and a rag and Tildus set about sponging the blood off Alec and looking for wounds.
As the guards pulled him this way and that, Alec considered what the captain had just let slip; Mardus wanted him with a whole skin, no blood spilled. That explained why they'd tortured him in the manner they had, but not why it was necessary.
When Tildus had finished, he pushed Alec back onto the bunk and threw him the cloak, really lucky bastard today. No cuts."
"Very lucky indeed."
Looking past Tildus and the guards, Alec saw Mardus standing in the doorway with Vargul
Ashnazai.
"There has been some unpleasantness, I understand," Mardus continued, giving Tildus an ominous look.
The captain rattled off a terse reckoning in his own tongue. Mardus answered curtly in the same, and motioned to the necromancer.
Smiling thinly, Vargul Ashnazai made his own inspection of Alec. "The boy remains unblemished, my lord."
"I'm glad to hear it. It would have been a great pity to have him come so close to our destination and then go to waste. Come, Alec, walk with me. There's something I think you'll enjoy."
Alec doubted it, but there was no choice but to obey.
Under close guard, he followed Mardus above.
It was an achingly beautiful day. The sky arched over the rolling sea like a deep blue bowl. The ship cut through the white-capped waves, her striped sails filled by a sweet following wind that sang through the yards and seemed to cleanse some of the stench of captivity from his skin.
A large square of white canvas had been nailed to the deck just below the forward battle platform.
Irtuk Beshar knelt at the center of it in an attitude of meditation, her hideous hands curled on her knees.
For the first time, Alec saw how most of the sailors and marines gave her a wide berth. Those who had to pass her kept their distance and averted their eyes.
This was also the first time he'd been able to observe her with any detachment. As usual, she wore rich, elaborate robes that contrasted hideously with her scabrous head and hands. A few wisps of long dark hair still clung to her scalp, and over it she wore a sort of veil fashioned from tiny gold chains and beads.
Kneeling there in the bright sunshine, she looked as fragile as the dried carapace of a locust, but Alec knew better all too well. In the Oreska museum he'd seen the hands of another dyrmagnos, who'd been hacked to pieces and scattered. Even after a century, those hands still moved. Looking down at the small figure still meditating in front of him, Alec shuddered, wondering what the true extent of her power was.